


Sometimes

by imma_redshirt



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: F/M, Hair Pulling, héctor talks too much, ohgod ignore the title
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 11:24:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14953763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imma_redshirt/pseuds/imma_redshirt
Summary: Sometimes, Héctor just talks too much at the wrong time.Imelda figures out a way to fix that.





	Sometimes

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm just gonna go ahead and deposit this thing here and then go hide somewhere because this is my first real smutty NSFW thing and oh boy I am???? So sorry????
> 
> This is rated E not for _everyone_ but E for _explicit_ so click that back button if ya know ya gotta. 
> 
> Once again, if there are any mistakes thanks to my awful Spanglish/Tex-Mex, please let me know!

Normally, Imelda loves listening to Héctor talk when they make love.

Even when she’s too far gone to comprehend what he’s saying, and the tenor of his voice is music on the edge of her consciousness. And especially when she’s got him right on the edge, and he babbles incoherently because he’s _so close,_ and sometimes he doesn’t even make sense, he’ll just talk to talk because the building pleasure is overwhelming. 

Or when he tells her that he loves her, and how beautiful she is. 

His moans and his gasps, every whimper and pleased hum, every joyous laugh that makes her laugh along with him. 

The man can recite poetry and compose music between kisses while his hands trace designs across her bare skin, and sometimes his breathless declarations of love and devotion and adoration alone are nearly enough to bring her to the peak of pleasure. It’s worse--or better, in fact--when he _knows_ what his voice and words do to her, and he speaks low into ear while his fingers play treacherous games along every curve and crevice of her body.

It was his voice, after all, that drew her to him all those years ago. She’d heard him before she saw him, and she’d followed his words mingled with the quick tunes of a guitar to find him sitting in the market, playing for passerby. He’d looked up, and she’d been lost in his brown eyes, and she’d tried not to be so obvious and improper in the middle of the day looking at some strange boy. But she’d fallen fast, and hard.

Had he been a siren, she would have been a sailor wrecked on a reef.

(But he would never hurt her that way.)

She loves listening to him. 

But sometimes, she doesn’t need him to talk. Sometimes, when it’s been weeks since their last time together, and their daughter is out with her Tios looking at the red and yellow flowers blooming on the nopales at the edge of town and they’ll return very soon--sometimes, she doesn’t want to hear him speaking. She just needs him to _do_.

And sometimes, Héctor takes a while to realize this.

She’d demanded things of him in bed before, but she’d never demanded his silence. Why would she silence his voice?

But on that day, it had simply been necessary.

Laying back in bed, arms stretched over her head as Héctor nudged her pale green blouse over her chest and off her arms, she thought maybe he would also see the severity of their situation. They didn’t have a lot of time before Coco returned for lunch.

Between chores, and taking care of their child, and Héctor playing at three different weddings with Ernesto and some others from around town, and Imelda helping her mother arrange flowers for each of those same weddings--Imelda had desired Héctor for so long she’d _dreamed_ of him pleasuring her.

She felt like a spring ready to fly into the air at the slightest nudge, so much so that his hands on her were both a relief and absolute, diabolical torture.

“Imelda,” Héctor said, pressing a kiss just between her breasts. His bare chest was warm against her. He nuzzled her, body pressing hers into the mattress, and ran his hand along the curve of her thigh. “Amor, you’re all I’ve been able to think about. You’re all I’ve been able to _dream_ about.”

Imelda smoothed her hands over his bare shoulders as he continued to kiss along her chest, his skin smooth and warm against her palms. “Am I?”

“Si, si,” he said, lips brushing her nipple. He pressed a kiss there, too, and when she expected, _wanted_ him to nip at her, he moved instead up to kiss her neck and cupped her breast with his free hand.

His other hand played at the hem of her blue skirt, fingers dipping just below the band.

Imelda moved her fingers up his neck, panting, trembling with want, as he licked a stripe from the base of her neck to the curve of her shoulder.

“They won’t be gone long, Héctor,” she said, hoping he’d catch on, but he hummed and began to kiss along her arm, speaking between kisses. 

“Qué bella,” he said, “Qué preciosa, mi vida, mi amor, me vuelves loco--”

“Héctor,” she said, pleading, spreading her legs further to feel his hardness press against her through the fabric of his trousers. He kissed the inside of her elbow, his hand on her breast squeezing, and the hand at her waist stroking, and he moved his hips _just so_ until she groaned and buried one hand in his hair.

He moved his hips again, and she rocked up to meet him, and her hand clenched in his hair and _pulled._

It had been a surprised and involuntary move, and a breathless apology had been ready on her lips. But before she could apologize, Héctor’s head snapped up with a gasp and he blinked at her in surprise, panting.

“Lo siento,” she breathed, fingers loosening.

“‘ta bien,” he said, still blinking as if shaking off something unfamiliar, and bowed his head continue his attention to her arm.

Almost automatically, Imelda’s fingers tightened in his hair again, and he froze.

“Espere,” she said, and he looked up at her, licking his lips. She paused, thoughts and ideas racing through her mind. “Héctor, I want to try something.”

He blinked at her again, and an eager grin spread across his flushed face. “Ok, si, si, what do you want to try?”

The perk of being a married couple of creative, inventive people, was that their love making was never boring. Imelda had heard some wives complain of their husband’s single minded strategies in bed, but she’d never experienced that.

They both often offered new ideas of bringing pleasure to each other, and it had gotten to the point where it had become a little game.

Imelda was winning, and she had yet to hear Héctor complain.

“If it hurts too much,” she said, hand still buried in the soft of his hair, “You will tell me, and we’ll stop, entendido?”

“Claro,” he said.

Imelda smiled. She watched the interest grow in his eyes, watched him bite his lip as he waited.

“Bueno, Héctor,” she said. Her fingers tightened. “When I do this--” she tugged, and he grunted, “You stop talking.”

Héctor huffed a surprised laugh, straining just so against her grip, and waggled his eyebrows at her. “As you command, mi capi--”

Imelda pulled. Héctor sucked in a breath and shut his jaw with a click, pupils blown with lust, and he breathed hard as Imelda loosened her fingers to rake her nails along his neck.

“You said that I’m all you’ve thought about,” she said, quirking an eyebrow at him. “All talk, Héctor. Just show me, before our daughter is home for lunch.”

Opening his mouth, Héctor took a breath to speak and held it when Imelda’s fingers once again tangled in his hair. His eyelids fluttered, but no words left his tongue. As Imelda loosened her grip, he licked his lips, lowered his head, and pressed his mouth to her neck. 

“Ah, amor,” she gasped, biting her lip as sucked at her flushed skin. “You are a quick learner.”

Héctor hummed into the crook of her neck. Imelda felt his fingers leave the band of her skirt, and his hand press against the inside of her thigh.

He pushed gently, and she let her legs fall further open until the stretch was too much. His hand at her breast squeezed again, and his fingers rolled her nipple. She bit her lip and slipped her free hand down his chest, along his belly, feeling the curled hair that lead between his legs, only to be stopped by his belt.

“Héctor, tus pantalones,” she said, annoyance coloring her voice, and he bit at her shoulder before pushing himself up to kneel between her legs.

She released his hair, and splayed her hands on his chest as he reached down to unbuckle his belt. His hair was ruffled, and his skin was hot under her fingers, and they were both sweating, and Imelda’s need for him to be on her and in her and to steal her breath away was again almost unbearable. If they had the time, she would climb atop him and make him cry out in blinding pleasure, but they didn’t have the time, and she didn’t know _when_ they would. She needed him now.

She stretched one arm over her head and reached down with her free hand to cup the bulge straining through his trousers. She heard him release a strangled gasp, and his hands fumbled at his belt.

“I’ve dreamt of you,” she said, and he looked at her with surprise. She arched her back just so, stretched her arm further over her head, and reveled in his gaze intent on her. Her heart was pounding as she continued. “Every night, Héctor. I’ve dreamt of having you inside me. I’ve dreamt of your hands on me, and your mouth between my thighs. Te necesito, amor.”

Héctor flung the belt somewhere behind him and shimmied out of his trousers. Imelda lifted her hips so he could push her skirt up until it was bunched around her waist, and gasped when Héctor stretched out on top of her, captured her lips in a kiss that stole her breath, and felt his hand slip between her legs.

His hand cupped her mound, and as he kissed her again, he slipped a finger into her.

Imelda moaned into his mouth. And when he rolled his thumb against her, she gasped, legs twitching, and jerked her hips.

She felt him smile against her.

“Mi reina,” he whispered, and for a moment she forgot to bury her hand in his hair. “Permission to speak?”

She scratched her nails at the nape of his neck, and felt him shudder against her. His fingers moved against her and she bit her lip, nodding.

“Si, si, permission granted,” she said, playing along with his favorite title for her, and curled one arm around his shoulders when he leaned in to whisper against her ear.

“I want to taste you next time,” he said, slipping his fingers from between her legs and arranging himself until she finally felt him pressing against her. 

“You will,” she said, and gasped when he pushed into her. She clung to his shoulders, hooked her legs around his thighs and he began to move hard and fast and _desperate_ against her, pleasure building so rapidly she was almost dizzy from it. Her fingers dug into his skin. “I want to be on you next time--”

At her words, Héctor made a noise between a whimper and a moan, and he raised his head to meet her gaze, and she knew she would be dreaming next of having her way with him when they had more time. 

"Mierda," he moaned, "Imelda--"

And with him watching her, panting, _smiling,_ finally in her after all the nights they’d spent sharing nothing more than kisses and strokes and soft words, Imelda felt the pressure in her build and build until she cried his name, arching her back and curling her toes and seeing stars. He wrapped one arm around her curved back and held her as she gasped, and he pressed against her with a moan, still rocking into her as she spasmed around him.

Even in her ecstasy filled haze, heart still racing, she could feel her arm shaking under her, and completely on impulse she reached up, buried her fingers in his hair, and pulled.

Immediately, Héctor cried out and gasped her name and came in her, and she kept her hold tight until he collapsed against her, body hot and heavy on top of her, panting and laughing softly against her neck.

“Dios mio,” he said, after a moment, breathless, “I--”

Imelda tugged his hair and he snapped his jaw shut. He looked at her, face aglow with playful obedience, and she loosened her fingers to stroke his hair from his brow.

“Dime, amor,” she said, just as breathless, pleasure still spiking as he shifted against her sensitive body. “Talk to me. Let me hear your voice.”

“I was saying,” he said, cocking an eyebrow at her and leaning in for a wet kiss. “That was amazing.”

Imelda kissed him back, still reeling from a climax that had been building for weeks. “It was.”

“I love you and your hands.”

Imelda snorted. “Just my hands?”

“I love your everything, but you’ve never done that to my hair before,” he said. “Also--have you really been dreaming of me like that?”

With another snort, Imelda rolled her eyes, and patted his shoulder. “Ask me again next time. Right now we need to clean up before Coco and mis hermanos come home.”

Héctor pulled out of her with a sigh and rolled until he lay next to her. Despite her words, she remained next to him, and curled into his arms. “When will next time be?” 

“I don’t know, Héctor,” she said. “Whenever we have time.”

“But _when_ will we have time? We’ve been so busy lately--”

Imelda poked his chest. “We’ll make time. Get up, let’s get dressed.”

“When will we make time?”

She narrowed her eyes at him and said, “I’m going to pull your hair.”

Héctor, who had shut his eyes and relaxed instead of doing what Imelda told him, raised his eyebrows and opened his eyes with eager interest. “Si, por favor?”

“Dios mio.”

“You started it.”

“Get dressed, I said.”

“You really want me to?”

“Héctor--”

“Pull my hair--”

“ _Héctor--_ ”

Imelda loved hearing his voice. So few other things brought her such peace and energy and relief all at once. But pulling his hair and silently demanding his silence for the briefest of times became a tool to be used during rare occasions. 

Neither of them ever regretted it, even when it followed them into the next life.


End file.
